


metempsychosis

by iStuhler



Category: Graceland (TV), Les Misérables (2012), Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-06-29
Updated: 2014-07-13
Packaged: 2018-02-06 16:02:40
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 1,685
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1863837
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iStuhler/pseuds/iStuhler
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mike Warren wakes up to the scent of fresh gunpowder in his nose and images of a bloody and defeated barricade in his head. He sits up in bed, gasping for air as he reaches out for the hand of someone invisible. His chest feels too tight, and he presses against it with one hand, the pads of his fingers probing for bullet holes that don't exist.</p><p> </p><p>me·tem·psy·cho·sis, noun -- the supposed transmigration at death of the soul of a human being or animal into a new body of the same or a different species.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Mike Warren wakes up to the scent of fresh gunpowder in his nose and images of a bloody and defeated barricade in his head. He sits up in bed, gasping for air as he reaches out for the hand of someone invisible. His chest feels too tight, and he presses against it with one hand, the pads of his fingers probing for bullet holes that don't exist.

Mike turns to the clock, sees it reads 2:38 AM in bright red digits, and groans. He rolls over in bed, buries his face in his pillow, and shuts his eyes.

\---

It happens for a second time two days later, except this time when Mike wakes, his head isn't filled with the scent of death. No, instead he can taste wine on his tongue and he can feel stubble against his face, his cheeks stinging with contact.

It's only at the seventh time that Mike wakes up like this that he begins to take it seriously.

\---

The seventh morning that Mike wakes up after one of these hyper-realistic nightmares that Charlie's teased him about and Paige has just given him odd looks for (because there's no way in hell that Mike would tell one of the guys), he _remembers_.

Mike remembers his name—Enjolras.

He remembers his friends—the guide and the center, the hypochondriac and the fighter, the unlucky one and the worker, the poet and the lover… and the cynic.

He remembers how Combeferre would step forward, pressing a hand on Enjolras’ chest when the sheer energy from the words in his arguments would cause his poor victim to cower before him. He remembers the sound of Courfeyrac’s laugh, high and happy and full of warmth, when his latest comment goes over well with the group. He remembers Joly covering his face with a handkerchief when Bossuet caught the flu. He remembers Bahorel nursing bruised knuckles, and Feuilly wrapping them with bandages during their meetings. He remembers Jehan reading his poems, twirling his pleated hair around one finger as he spoke, with Marius sighing happily in one corner, hearts in his eyes.

He remembers watching all of his friends die, and he remembers standing by a window on the top floor of the cafe, a tattered flag clenched in his fist. He remembers staring down the barrels of a firing squad, alone. Until he wasn’t. Until a voice called out and a figure pushed through the line of red coated men. _Grantaire_.

He remembers Grantaire.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mike sinks down into one of the chairs in the kitchen. It’s still early, around three in the morning, and everyone else is still asleep. There are empty beer bottles on the table, one turned on its side, brown liquid pooling around the lip of the bottle. He lifts a hand to his face, scrubbing at his eyes with his fingers.
> 
> Enjolras, he thinks. Enjolras is a blond revolutionary with golden curls and a red coat. Enjolras is not afraid to die. Enjolras is surrounded by his friends, Enjolras is… Enjolras isn’t alive. Enjolras was alive. And Mike? He is alive now.

Mike sinks down into one of the chairs in the kitchen. It’s still early, around three in the morning, and everyone else is still asleep. There are empty beer bottles on the table, one turned on its side, brown liquid pooling around the lip of the bottle. He lifts a hand to his face, scrubbing at his eyes with his fingers.  
  
Enjolras, he thinks. Enjolras is a blond revolutionary with golden curls and a red coat. Enjolras is not afraid to die. Enjolras is surrounded by his friends, Enjolras is… Enjolras isn’t alive. Enjolras  _was_ alive. And Mike? He is alive _now_.  
  
His brain is moving too fast for him to process, and he stands abruptly, the bottles clinking on the table. He gathers them up, standing them in a row next to the sink methodically as he tries to organize his thoughts into some sort of logical manner. Straightening up the mess doesn’t work, so he pads over to the patio doors. Mike wrenches them open and walks outside, into the cool California night air, and breathes.  
  
In. Out. _Slower._ In… out… now think.  
  
Enjolras lived in France, 1832. He lived for only a short while, dying alone for a cause he believed in. No, that was wrong. He wasn’t alone.  
  
“Grantaire,” Mike breathes, the name rolling off his tongue in perfectly accented French. “Capital R, it’s genius.” He leans against the railing, eyes on the rolling ocean. Was Grantaire waking up now, like Mike was, remembering everything all at once like a punch to the gut? Was Grantaire still Grantaire, or was his name something different now? Where was he living? Still in France, or in the United States, or even in another country like—  
  
“…Mikey?” The patio door slides open behind him and Charlie steps out onto the patio. “It’s like three in the morning, why are you awake?”  
  
“I…” Mike hesitates. “I couldn’t sleep. I just… needed fresh air.” He turns to look over his shoulder at her, giving her a tight-lipped smile. “You?”  
  
“Yeah, same,” she says, walking forwards to lean against the railing alongside of him. She looks forward, eyes searching in the darkness. “I haven’t been sleeping well since… well. You know.”  
  
Mike nods. “Jangles,” he says, finishing her sentence for her.  
  
Charlie’s lips tighten grimly in confirmation. “And Juan,” she says softly, eyes flicking over to meet Mike’s. “I keep thinking about his wife, their daughter… what’s going to happen to them?”  
  
Mike is grateful, suddenly, to Charlie. She’s provided him with a distraction, something else he can think about instead of Enjolras. "They'll be okay," he says, his voice unsure. He doesn't know what's going to happen to them, and to be frank, he's not interested in getting himself any further entangled in the whole mess. Mike knows something's up with Briggs, with Juan... why else would he have run? Now was not the time for that, especially not after everything that had happened with Jangles.

Charlie calls him out immediately, but it's soft, not angry. "You don't know that," she says sadly, turning to lean her back against the railing. "Kelly was a recovering alcoholic, I've read her file. She's relapsed now that Juan is gone. He was the only thing keeping her sober."

Mike exhales, a quiet huff of air in the night despite the soft crash of waves from the ocean behind them. "Shit."

Charlie nods. "Yeah," she says, finality in her voice. "Tell me about it." She nudges Mike with her shoulder gently, pushing off of the railing. "Go try and get some sleep, Mike." She gives him one more smile, although it's slightly forced, and then disappears back inside. Mike can see her shadow through the window as she pulls a glass from the cupboard, fills it with water from the refrigerator, and then climbs the stairs. When he sees the lights go dark again, he turns back to the ocean.

Something catches his eye, something down by the water. A glint, light from a phone maybe, shining off of something. Mike squints, is barely able to make out the form of a person sitting by the water, legs folded in the sand. As if they can feel Mike staring, they turn, and Mike can feel their eyes on his even though he can't see them. The dark form lifts a hand, and then, when they see that Mike hasn't moved, they turn back to the ocean. 


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The room is lit from a slightly ajar door, and in the light the shadow of a human figure is silhouetted. It’s a man, as best as Mike can see, a man with a dark head of curly hair and a bottle dangling from between his fingers. 
> 
> “Grantaire?” Mike asks, his voice loud in the quiet of his room. The figure steps forward once, and then twice, and then—

Mike wakes with a jerk and a gasp of air, clutching at his chest. He looks down, half expecting to see blood pouring out of eight fresh wounds. But instead, all he sees is the gray of his undershirt that he’d fallen asleep in. He blinks, confused—he’d been having a nightmare, the same one, but it hadn’t ended yet. The students, they were still seated around tables at the cafe, talking of Lamarque’s funeral and the way that they wanted to organize the protest. Motion from the corner of his eye catches Mike's attention, and he turns, squinting. The room is lit from a slightly ajar door, and in the light the shadow of a human figure is silhouetted. It’s a man, as best as Mike can see, a man with a dark head of curly hair and a bottle dangling from between his fingers. 

“Grantaire?” Mike asks, his voice loud in the quiet of his room. The figure steps forward once, and then twice, and then—

Mike wakes, sitting up straight in bed, covers pooling around his waist. He turns to look at his alarm clock, frowning when he sees that it reads 9:00. He should have been up hours ago, and he glares at the sun shining through the gaps in the curtains as if its’ the sun’s fault he’s still in bed. He drags a hand through his hair and steels himself before getting out of bed.

Mike makes his way downstairs, tendrils of sleep still fogging his vision. He’s supposed to go somewhere with Briggs today, to scope out a potential buy instead of walking in blind. But he can’t seem to find the energy. Instead, he stares at the couch, barely comprehending that there’s someone seated there already. It’s Jakes, one hand around the remote and the other gripping a glass of juice. 

“Yo, Levi,” Jakes says, raising the glass in a mock toast. “You going out with Briggs today?”

“I… no,” Mike says, trying to maneuver his way into the kitchen. “I’m not feeling well. I don’t think I’m going to be able to make it out today.” 

Jakes stares at Mike, blinking slowly, his brows furrowed in confusion. He stays silent, just staring at Mike.

It’s then that Mike realizes that he’d spoken entirely in French. He spins, walking into the kitchen so that Jakes wouldn’t see the look on his face.

“I know they put you through Spanish linguistics training,” Jakes said, standing up to follow Mike. “But French, too? You spoke that like a real French dude, you know that?” He sets his glass on the counter, opening the fridge. Jakes fills the glass, adds a splash of vodka, and takes a long drink.

“Alcohol? At nine in the morning?” Mike counters, desperate to change the subject. He didn’t know French, not a word, and yet he’d spoken it like an actual native of France.

Jakes glares at him, any hint of a smile gone from his face. “Go back to bed, Levi,” he deadpans, “you’re not feeling well.” He takes another, more deliberate, sip of his drink and turns to go back to sit on the couch.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i know these are short chapters but i want to get them out as i write them so idk
> 
> things are busy with life and work and traveling but i'm going to work on more chapters today and try and get a few posted very soon
> 
> we'll be meeting grantaire, also, or rather his modern day reincarnation (hence the mike warren/OMC tag) very soon

**Author's Note:**

> this is set in an AU of Graceland where, after the events of season one, Mike doesn't go to DC. all mistakes are my own, please point them out.
> 
> i'm ggavroche.tumblr.com on tumblr if you'd like to follow/chat/poke me with a stick so that i remember to write more of this. prompts are welcome as well :)


End file.
